When I was little, my grandfather told me stories of the war that he survived. I can still hear the tremble in his voice and the far away look he’d get when he told his stories of the World War II in the East. He spoke about selling his wedding band for a morsel of bread, the excruciating Bataan death march, and how he miraculously found a hole from which to breathe in a train packed with dying fellow soldiers. My grandfather fought alongside the Americans. He and his brother were captured by the Japanese army in the World War II in the East. That was the last time he saw his brother.